


Climbing to the Throne

by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka)



Series: How to Win a Losing Hand: One-Shots from the Love Story of Varric Tethras and Maria Cadash (Canon Dragon Age Setting) [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hawke (Dragon Age) Has a Twin, Inquisitors in Kirkwall, Marriage Proposal, Multi Inquisitor, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Viscount Varric, no chantry boom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold
Summary: In an Alternate Universe where Maria Cadash and Athena Adaar converge in Kirkwall in time to stop Anders from making a devastating mistake and there aretwosets of Hawke twins, Varric is handed the Viscount's Throne far before the Mage War consumes the south.He'll only be climbing to the throne if one spectacularly curvy redhead gets to come with him.
Relationships: Female Cadash/Varric Tethras, Maria Cadash/Varric Tethras - Relationship
Series: How to Win a Losing Hand: One-Shots from the Love Story of Varric Tethras and Maria Cadash (Canon Dragon Age Setting) [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896694
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Climbing to the Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my fellow Smut Queen [TightAssets](https://tightassets.tumblr.com/) for this lovely gift of Maria Cadash being fine as hell in the Viscount's Throne. Look at the fucking detail in that throne room. The lingerie. MY SEXY BABY. I was swooning. You are, as always, AMAZING friend.

The moment Otsar told him that Maria took off after heated words with Bran, Varric knew it was trouble.

He didn’t know how much, _exactly_ , but he knew Bran was a pain in the ass and Maria had a hair trigger temper. Really, he expected to find _something_ or _someone_ broken and bloody on the floor of the Keep that, apparently, belonged to him now.

Maker’s ass. The whole gang stopped Meredith and what did they get? Junior’s baby cheeked face running the Gallows, Sunshine cleaning up the Chantry after they kicked Elthina back to Orlais, the elder Hawke twins trying to keep order in a city rocked to the core, and Varric…

Well. Varric got a crown he didn’t ask for _or_ particularly want. Which was bad enough, except now he couldn’t find the girlfriend he _very much_ wanted.

“Still looking for Maria?”

Varric’s eyes snapped up to catch Athena Adaar examining a guard schedule. She looked as exhausted as he felt.

Varric gestured uselessly at the hall. “Put me out of my misery and say you know where she’s at.”

“Not sure, honestly.” Athena sighed, shaking her head. “V said she may have seen her heading towards the throne room. Bran’s looking for _you_ , though. Apparently your crown has gone missing.”

“Tragic.” Varric replied wryly.

Athena’s lips twitched upwards. “I thought you’d say that. I’m afraid it won’t stop them from trying to crown you though.”

Unfortunately, his favorite qunari friend was right. He waved in defeat and continued on through the hall, skirting the office that would soon be his. He could hear Bran’s shrieking complaints about something and honestly, it made him want to grab Maria and make for the docks to see if they couldn’t convince Isabela to take them somewhere nicer. Warmer.

The closer he got to the throne room, the quieter it got. Renovations had been completed the week before and all the blood cleaned from the failed Qunari invasion and the _last_ poor sucker they talked into this job. Then Bran forbade anyone else from going in and scuffing up the floor or spilling fresh blood before the big ceremony.

Not that there was much to see except a drafty room and an uncomfortable chair. Still, Varric shoved the heavy doors open and peered into the room.

Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the wide windows up above. It illuminated the ostentatious carved stone serving as the throne’s backdrop, Kirkwall’s coat of arms front and center. And then there was the blighted chair itself. Large enough for a fucking _Qunari_ the size of the Arishok to plop his ass on the uncomfortable seat.

 _Also_ large enough for one curvaceous dwarven beauty to stretch herself out, shapely legs dangling off the arm rest, stolen crown dangling from her fingertips. Maria flicked her eyes up toward the creak of the door, pinning him with a gaze that promised both mass destruction and the time of his life.

“You’re late.”

The tone of voice brooked no argument. Not that Varric could think of many he wanted to make. He stepped through the door quickly, clicking it closed behind him. For good measure, he tore his eyes from the tempting sight and threw the wooden beam down to latch it behind him.

It wouldn’t keep out _any_ of their friends, but it may buy them a couple seconds to right themselves.

Then, with great purpose, he slowly turned his attention back to the woman on the throne to take in the glorious sight she made.

“Princess.” He breathed, approaching with no small degree of reverence. “I’m overdressed for this appointment.”

The underthings Maria wore were meant for form over function, to taunt and tease a man to insanity. The fact that _she_ was using them only added master level runes to a silverite blade, turning her from dangerous to _deadly_. Black silk and blue lace barely contained her perfect breasts and hid the juncture of her thighs. Stockings clung to her legs, trimmed in the same expensive black lace.

He perused her like a work of art, leisurely taking in every creamy inch of exposed skin before trailing his gaze back to her face. She smirked, tossed her crimson hair over her freckled shoulder, and spun the crown lazily around her finger.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard someone call you overdressed, deshyr.”

Her tone was right. The heat and affection in her eyes was right. Maker knew the reaction her body inspired in his was _more_ than right. His cock was already half hard and he wasn’t even close enough to snatch her from that throne.

But the word deshyr was _wrong_. She’d called him deshyr before, of course. When they first met, before… before everything. Before their foolish flirtation ignited into a torrid love affair that simmered at a low burn _constantly_.

When was the _last_ time she’d called him deshyr instead of his name, even as a joke?

“I thought you liked me roguishly rumpled.” Varric said.

There it was. The tip of her smile that always seemed a bit uncertain, a bit vulnerable. The one she saved exclusively for him. It warmed his heart.

“I like us to match.” She admitted, steadying the crown on her finger before daintily lifting it to her own head and placing it on top of her blood red hair. “How’s it look?”

“Better on you than me.” Which wasn’t _quite_ true. It fit her awkwardly, tipping onto her brow. It was meant for a head much larger than hers, of course. Still… she wore it with an air of confidence that was hard to ignore.

She’d always been his princess for a reason, after all.

“Liar.” She sniffed.

“Guilty.” He climbed onto the dais, dropping into the perfect bow. One that would make his dear mum proud. “But if anyone could wear that hunk of metal with flair, it would be you.”

“Too bad I hate it.” Maria scoffed.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. Second set of alarm bells. Slowly, Varric dropped to his knees at the foot of the throne. Large hands reached for her thighs, tugging her to face him with an efficient motion that sent the ugly crown toppling to the tiles.

“Talk to me, Princess.” He begged.

“I get dressed up like this and you want to _talk_?” Maria asked, tone lowered to a rasp that sent shivers down his spine. Her nimble fingers reached for his hair, guiding him closer.

He couldn’t resist the temptation of her body, he never could. She threaded her fingers through his hair and he brought his lips to the soft, sensitive skin of her thigh. She gasped at the brush of his stubbled jaw, squirming already.

Varric couldn’t resist her, but he wasn’t about to be sidetracked. “I heard Bran is lucky to have both arms attached to his body.”

“Bran who?” Maria asked, _far_ too quickly. Varric tore his eyes, reluctantly, from the lace covering his goal to give her a withering glance.

“For fuck’s sake, Varric.” She whined, hips bucking beneath the hands settling on her thighs. “I don’t _want_ to talk about Bran. I want your mouth on my cunt and I want-”

“You know you can have whatever you want.” He soothed, rubbing small circles over her skin. “But you gotta tell me what’s got you all fired up.”

“Your sodding _teasing_.” She bit out. Varric tugged her closer to the edge of the seat, but prevented her from swinging her shapely legs over his broad shoulders like he knew she wanted. Instead he trailed more delicate kisses up the slope of her abdomen, holding her stormy gaze.

“Fuck. _Fuck_.”

“I intend to. _After_.”

She whimpered, his cue to blow a stream of heated air across the damp lace and silk. Maria swore, fingers tightening in Varric’s hair unapologetically.

“Bran informed me I’m sitting in the _back_ of your coronation.” Maria spat. “As your _disreputable_ Carta lover…”

Varric’s heart stuttered. Anger, directed not at Maria but at the meddling human, made him tighten his grip on her creamy thighs. “Disreputable lover?”

“I’m _sure_ he meant whore, but-”

Yeah. Varric was sure he meant whore too. His arousal flagged and he shot a murderous glance over his shoulder. Maria, one of the cleverest, most compassionate women he’d ever had the grace to meet, would sit wherever she damn well liked at his blighted coronation or they could find someone else.

“Varric stop.” Maria’s voice was threaded with fear, he heard it beneath the bluster now clear as a bell. “I just… I want you. I want to keep _you_ , I don’t care how I do it.”

When was the last time someone had promised that? When was the last time someone _meant_ it?

Varric didn’t know.

“Marry me.” The words tripped out of his mouth. “Marry me and sit beside me.”

Maria looked down at him, shocked into speechless silence for the first time since he’d met her. The silence stretched on while they stared at each other, breathless, flushed.

“I’m sorry.” Maria finally said, albeit faintly. “What?”

“You. Me. An equally horrific matching crown and uncomfortable chair.” Varric held her eyes, watching the panic surge within them.

“Varric you _can’t_.” She protested.

“Who’s going to stop us?” He asked, lowering his voice to a soft, soothing rumble. “Zarra? She already knows the Carta’s lost you. The Guild? They’re terrified of both of us. Bran? He’s a moron.”

“The entire noble shitshow of this entire city is going to have your head.” Maria claimed. “They’ve got _daughters_ , Varric. That’s half your draw.”

“Then they can find some other poor bastard to saddle with this job.”

He reached for her hand, drew it down his jaw before turning to press a kiss in the heart of her palm. “Don’t make me do this without you, Maria.”

Under his fingers, her heartbeat raced, but her hand was perfectly still, perfectly steady. Archer’s hands, a rogue’s sure hands. Honestly, the _perfect_ hands for his favorite partner in crime, the hands Kirkwall _needed_.

“When it blows up in our face, I’m going to say I told you so.”

Her voice was a whisper, but he dared look back at her glittering eyes again, his heart leaping to his throat.

“I didn’t quite catch that, Princess, but it sounded like a yes.”

Maria’s lips twitched. “Yes. Yes it did.”

The gentlemanly thing to do was probably to stand, swing her up into his arms, and kiss the breath out of her.

Varric, however, only played the gentleman when the role demanded it. And really, what the situation _demanded_ was for him to make his Viscountess of choice scream his name to the empty throne room.

The lace tore under his fingers, but before Maria could even gasp her complaint, his hands were cupping the generous curves of her rear and pulling her to the very edge of the seat. She slid down with a breathy laugh, one arm clutching at the armrests while the other hand clambered for his hair.

Then his tongue trailed her wet slit and she moaned, blunt nails scratching at his scalp while her grip tightened. He tipped her hips up to his greedy mouth and spared her one more glance.

Her eyes crackled with emotions too intense and vibrant to name or capture, even though he’d try. Andraste, he’d been trying to capture her for _years_ on paper and he never succeeded and now…

Well. Now he had the rest of his damn life.

“Hold on Princess.” He murmured, watching her shiver. “You’re in for a hell of a ride.”

“Promises, prom- _Varric!_ ”

The slightest touch of his tongue on her clit was enough to have his name ringing to the ceiling, and that suited him just fine. The taste of her on his lips was heaven, was ambrosia itself, and he was a penitent at the altar of her thighs practicing his unholy devotions.

Sin had never tasted sweeter than Maria herself did.

She thrashed beneath him and he slammed his arm over her thighs to pin her to the throne, growling his irritation while he attacked her with all the pent up desire and reverence she inspired in him every damn day.

A part of him almost wished she’d kept the crown on. There was something heady about lifting her legs over her shoulder and watching her slump in the impressive seat, breasts heaving as she panted his name into the silence. Her thighs shook with pleasure.

“Varric. Varric, please, I need…” Her shaking fingers curled into his hair and Varric lazily circled her clit with his tongue once more before diving down to drink her arousal from the source. His tongue split the folds of her sex, lapping her eagerly.

He pulled back just long enough to nip at the soft skin again, to hear her whimper at the poignant blend of sharp pain and rushing pleasure before he thrust two fingers into her molten heat.

She almost arched off the chair completely, held in place only by his insistent fingers thrusting inside her. The muscles quivered when he brought his lips back to her clit, pausing to prolong her delicious agony just a moment.

“Varric Tethras I _swear_ if you don’t make me cum I will _divorce_ you before you even marry me.” She threatened, arousal and anger making her flush red beneath his eager attention.

He chuckled and brought his tongue back to the sensitive bud. She sobbed her approval, tugging impatiently on his hair while he teased her with featherlight touches that made her whine and tremble.

Then, when she started to keen his name in increasingly stringent tones, he granted mercy. His lips closed around the bundle of nerves, applying a soft pressure that made Maria’s muscles clench around him. She threw her head back in triumph as the wave of her orgasm crashed, soaking his fingers and the chair beneath her.

He pulled back only enough to lick some of the mess from her skin while she sagged back against the unforgiving wood. His cock throbbed insistently with thwarted desire.

“What do you say we take this upstairs, Princess?” He rasped, withdrawing his fingers from her sopping sheath.

“No.” Maria’s grin held the wicked edge of trouble he loved so much. “You wanna marry me? You better fuck me on this throne first.”

Well. Varric never could say no to her. He brought his fingers to his lips and licked her arousal from them, holding her electric gaze.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

It was nothing to sweep her from the chair and into his arms. Her lips found his enthusiastically before Varric’s ass even hit the warmed wooden seat. She twisted her arms around his neck while he impatiently undid his breeches.

Before he could do more than that, she was rolling her hips against him, dragging her slick core against his length. They both moaned, breaking the kiss to share a heated, intense look that danced right on the urge of danger.

Then he surged into her, hilting in one smooth stroke.

“ _Yes._ ” Maria crumbled into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. “Yes, Varric…”

 _Yes_. She’d said _yes_.

The thought filled him with possessive lust bordering on an inferno. His hands sunk into the skin of her waist and hauled her off his cock before pounding back into her warm, willing body. It startled another desperate moan out of her throat, one he wanted to hear again, and again, until he died hearing it in his ears.

“I love you, Princess.” He hissed, nipping at the delicate lobe of her ear while she clung to him. “Andraste, I love you. The things you do to me…”

She tried to say something, but it collapsed into another needy moan when he jerked his hips. “I need you. I _need_ you, Maria.” He whispered.

“Then fucking _take_ me.”

The permission he needed. Varric reared back, hammering into her, giving into the frantic need coursing through him. He lost track of time, lost track of everything except Maria’s trembling muscles, her breathy noises of pleasure, and the way her nails raked over his skin.

Then she whispered, soft as silk, in his ear. “Cum for me. Cum in me. Please Varric…”

She punctuated her plea with a gentle bite on his earlobe and he came undone. His hips stuttered to a stop and he roared her name, burying himself inside her until he saw stars, until darkness clouded the edges of his vision, and he too sank back on the chair. He’d need to tell someone to clean it now.

And possibly make sure that person got a raise.

One broad hand stroked up and down Maria’s spine as she collapsed against him, warm and pliant. For a moment, there was nothing but blissful silence.

“Tomorrow.” He finally rumbled. “Me. You. Whatever daft human we can talk into marrying us with no notice.”

For a second there was no answer, then a soft, almost shy response.

“I guess it’s a date then.”

**Author's Note:**

> To catch more smut, usually but not always involving dwarves, check out [@cartadwarfwithaheartofgold](https://cartadwarfwithaheartofgold.tumblr.com/) at Tumblr!


End file.
